


How Are You True

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Coming In Pants, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There’s two rules between them, two thick barriers that keep them from slipping up and melting together. Richie’s rule is simple to follow, except for during those drunk nights when their thoughts become a bit slippery: no sleeping over, not in the same bed at least.Eddie’s rule is even more simple to follow: no kissing.Sometimes, for Richie, it gets a bit hard to follow Eddie’s rule. Sometimes, he feels like he could drown in Eddie.Sometimes, Richie hopes that Eddie could drown in him, too.





	How Are You True

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ridtheblues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridtheblues/gifts), [littlelesbiangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelesbiangirl/gifts).

> some things u may or may not wanna know!
> 
> \- takes place in the early to mid 2000's
> 
> \- they're in their senior year of college soo they're both renting different apartments love that college life
> 
> \- yes i did just feed into the friends with benefits trope what abt it

“Bev seems to think there’s something going on between you and Eddie,” Mike says one day, over some type of fancy spaghetti that Stan makes, and Richie chokes mid-drink. 

It splashes up against the bridge of his nose, drips of it slipping down his glasses and he tries hard not to cough up a lung onto the table. “You okay, Rich?” Stan asks, a light-hearted laugh lacing his tone. Richie chuckles too, through rough coughs, and he pretends that his heart isn’t making it’s way into his throat. He chases it down with three huge gulps of red wine, earning weird looks from both Stan and Mike before he clears his throat a bit too loudly. 

Richie coughs out another laugh, then says, “I don’t know why she’d say that.”

It’s a lie. Bev is good at reading people, always has been, and she’s been reading Richie like a novel—front to back, back to front. 

“It’s nothing to overthink,” Mike says, “Just some weird observation, I guess. You know how she is.”

Soon, they talk of other things instead. Mike tells Richie about how them and their work friends have plans to travel Europe once they graduate, to go up through Latvia, then down towards Belarus and then travel all the way through Portugal. Stan mentions his Portuguese lessons, talks about how uncannily his instructor resembles Carroll Cole. 

Later on, when Richie’s back in his own bed, he thinks about Mike’s words, about Bev’s ability to read people and he briefly wonders if she can tell what Eddie is thinking, too. 

Eddie’s never been one to voice his thoughts, not to Richie at least. With Richie, Eddie is all blank pages—beautiful and sweet blank pages that Richie can never get enough of, no matter how frustrating it can be. 

There’s two rules between them, two thick barriers that keep them from slipping up and melting together. Richie’s rule is simple to follow, except for during those drunk nights when their thoughts become a bit slippery: no sleeping over, not in the same bed at least. 

Eddie’s rule is even more simple to follow: no kissing. 

Sometimes, for Richie, it gets a bit hard to follow Eddie’s rule. Sometimes, he feels like he could drown in Eddie. 

Sometimes, Richie hopes that Eddie could drown in him, too.

He tosses against his covers, thinks of Eddie and falls asleep. He doesn’t dream.

***

“Mike says that Bev thinks there’s something going on between us,” Richie says three days later, while Eddie washes the dishes and hums some upbeat tune. 

Richie’s words seem to catch him off guard, because his humming quickly halts and his soapy hands seize up a bit in the sink. He glances at Richie—Richie who’s sitting on the counter, swinging his legs around and avoiding Eddie’s eyes—when he says, “And what did you say to that?”

Richie looks at him then, and Eddie suddenly looks cautious. 

“I mean, I didn’t say there wasn’t anything going on for sure, but I implied it,” he says, and Eddie’s eyes go a bit squinty.

“Wait—you implied what?”

“That there wasn’t anything going on?”

“So, you basically just fucked us?”

“What?”

“You literally just told Mike we’re having sex,” Eddie groans, pinching at his nose with his soapy fingers.

“What? Eddie, I just said that I implied that there was nothing going on.”

“Implying does nothing when it’s fucking true, Rich!”

It goes quiet in Eddie’s kitchen, neither of them speaking as Eddie angrily turns the water off. He steps back, back until he hits the fridge and Richie hears some magnets tumble against the linoleum floor. When Richie glances up at him, Eddie has his arms crossed with a big frown on his face, jaw tight with one of his fingers fiddling with his class ring.

They stay like that for a while, Richie’s legs still swinging and Eddie staring at the wall with a clenched jaw.

“I just don’t think it’s that big of a—“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.”

“Eds, you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion,” Richie says, and Eddie shoots him a look for the first time in a while.

“No, fuck you. You don’t get to decide that shit for me,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. He swallows hard, like he’s struggling to speak when he says, “It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” and Richie pretends that his heart isn’t breaking. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Richie nearly whispers, voice thick and low.

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up? Ever?” Eddie nearly yells, voice high and loud and Richie can see the regret set deep behind his eyes the moment he says it. 

He hops down off the counter, keys jingling in the pocket of his shorts and he says, “I’m gonna go.” If there’s a shake in his voice, Eddie is nice enough to not point it out. 

“Richie—“

“I’m gonna go,” he says again. This time, Eddie lets him.

Richie doesn’t even bother with his shoes, just grips them hard with shaking hands and makes the walk to his car in his socks.

If he cries when he makes it to the car lot, no one needs to know about that.

***

A week and a half goes by before he hears from Eddie again. 

Richie’s sleeping on the couch when he hears the first hesitant round of knocking. He had been watching some shitty comedy show on TV, one that can barely even make the 2AM time slot, and it had been a cold night. Now, he’s awake, and it’s still just as cold, just as lonely.

When he opens the door, Eddie’s there. Of course he’s there. Richie tries to keep his heart from beating too loud in the silence between them, and he suddenly wonders if maybe Eddie is doing the same. His eyes look swollen, shiny and wet in the glow of Richie’s porch light, and he starts fiddling with that stupid class ring of his.

He blinks hard, then simply says, “Hey.” 

“Hey.”

Eddie takes his class ring off completely, rolls it with his thumb and slips it onto a different finger. “Can I come in?” 

Richie’s eyes slip closed then, only for a second before he mutters, “Of course.”

The sigh Eddie lets out is broken, maybe by tears or by some type of relief. He steps into Richie’s space, wraps both arms around his neck and he buries his face there too. “I’m sorry,” He says, and Richie grips at the back of his wind-breaker, then moves a hand to cradle the back of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again, whispers it into Richie’s neck, “I was just scared.”

Richie rubs at Eddie’s hair, then says, “I know, I know. You’re okay.”

“I missed you,” Eddie says, then stops himself from saying too much. Some strange noise catches at the back of his throat, and Richie tries to convince himself that Eddie isn’t crying.

He is.

His hands slide over Richie’s shoulders, down the expanse of his arms and all the way to his hips. Richie struggles to steady himself when Eddie crowds against him, becomes impossibly close so that their hips bump together clumsily. His neck becomes hot from Eddie’s breath.

“Can we--?”

“Yeah,” Richie sighs out, “Yeah.”

They end up in Richie’s bed, still unmade from last week, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind all that much. He pulls his shirt up, tries to get it over his head and they both laugh lazily when it gets stuck beneath his chin. Richie thinks they’re at their best when it’s like this; dizzy and a little sleepy even. 

Eddie settles into his lap, wiggles a bit when Richie tries to kick his own sweatpants off. It’s with the first slow grind of Eddie’s hips into his when he lets out a breathy fuck. He lets his hands chase the knobs of Eddie’s spine, grips his hips and sits up into him a bit.

“I wanna do it like this,” Eddie says, swallowing hard and running his hands all over Richie’s chest, and Richie can only breathe out a shaky “ok.”

Eddie singles in on a rhythm, quick and short ruts of his hips against Richie’s, and his breath picks up with the way he’s bouncing. Richie runs a hand through the hair falling into Eddie’s eyes, pushes it back onto his head and says, “It’s ok. I got you.” Eddie lets his head fall against Richie’s shoulder then, and Richie just holds him while he chases his high.

It’s hard not to buck up when Eddie’s just grinding his clothed cock against Richie’s, quick and filthy. The moan that slips from Eddie’s mouth is enough for Richie to grab onto his hips hard, pull him down against him. 

“God, you feel so good,” Richie whispers into his hair. “Missed you so much.”

When Eddie pulls back suddenly, Richie finally gets a good look at his face and fuck. 

His cheeks are burning pink, face and chest starting to catch a sheen from sweat and his lips are a tinge of red from being chewed on. Richie feels soft hands slide up his neck, over his ears and into his hair, all while those same hips slow into some kind of deep, agonizing grind against his cock. 

“Eddie,” he sighs, low and barely there and he feels those hands cup his face, feels skinny fingers tap against his jaw and before he can even speak, he feels Eddie’s lips smooth and soft against his chin. Richie’s eyes go a bit wide, and his hands tighten on Eddie’s hips.

“Eddie,” Richie says again, this time a little louder. 

Eddie kisses him then, lips pressing chaste against the corner of Richie’s mouth, and Richie tries hard not to smile when Eddie sighs into it like it’s the most relief he’s ever felt in his life. When Eddie pulls back, his eyes look all glossy and Richie just wants to kiss him all over.

“Why did you do that?” Richie asks.

Eddie’s hands don’t leave his face. “I don’t know,” he laughs, and Richie smiles so hard that his cheeks start to hurt. Richie kisses him hard, and he quickly comes to the realization that he never wants to stop kissing Eddie. 

When Eddie starts grinding again, Richie can’t help but thrust up, to work his own dick into Eddie’s and he moans to himself when Eddie whimpers out, “Oh my god, fuck.”

Eddie’s looking at him now, but something’s different behind his eyes. Eddie’s never looked at him like that before, never with that hazy, soft look. That look is reserved for something quite different from Richie—good food or sweet poetry or something totally overwhelming—not Richie. Never Richie.

Richie kisses him again, runs his tongue over Eddie’s and ruts up against him with vigor. It knocks these little whimpers out of Eddie that causes Richie’s mind to become all fuzzy. “Look so pretty,” Richie rambles against Eddie’s cheek. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?”

He pulls Eddie down roughly by his thighs, rolls his hips up hard against Eddie’s. 

Suddenly, Eddie scrunches his face up like he’s about to cry, lets out a cut off whimper before his hips still completely. Richie doesn’t realize he’s coming until he grunts, and his hips jerk forward with it. He comes so hard that some of it spurts through the material of his briefs, drips down stickily against Richie’s hip. At that, Richie moans high and loud, chasing his own orgasm against Eddie’s trembling thigh. 

He comes with Eddie rubbing his hair, touching his face, lips on his neck. He can’t help when his back arches away from the headboard, towards Eddie’s warmth. 

When Richie’s eyes grow heavy with sleep, he leans against Eddie, head on his chest with a smile on his face. He drifts off to the overwhelming sound of Eddie’s heartbeat.

***

Richie finds that waking up with Eddie feels the way he always thought it would; sickly sweet and a tad bit overpowering. Richie also finds that Eddie wakes just as he did when he was a kid, confused at first, one eye shut with his hair a mess. He smiles when he sees Richie, swallows thickly and says, “Don’t look at me like that.”

The laugh that Richie lets out is soft, and he brushes the hair off Eddie’s forehead. 

“I think we may have broken the ‘no staying over’ rule,” Richie says.

Eddie chuckles against the pillow. “Yeah well, I’m the one that broke the ‘no kissing’ rule, so I guess my resolve is a bit worse than yours.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak losing control? Never thought I’d see the day.” 

They both laugh when Eddie gives him a rough punch to the shoulder. “Shut up, dick” he laughs, and Richie does. 

There’s still some kind of ache deep in Richie’s chest, but it’s a good one, he thinks. The kind that comes from the weight of a full heart, maybe. He leans close to Eddie, wraps an arm around his shoulders and sighs into his hair. 

Yeah, the ache is good, he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> this is for allie and paige i love you guys sm thank u for always hyping me up yall are my babies. 
> 
> uh lemme know if anyone wants a sequel from eddies POV like what caused him to change his mind and stuff bcuz even IM interested ... hmm..


End file.
